My blog is weird

You guys see a very different side to me in comparison to what many people in my life see. My closest friends know that I am pretty…erm…odd, but my work colleagues and casual acquaintances see “professional Jane.”

Professional Jane likes pencil skirts and blazers. She eats rye crackers and discusses politics with men in suits. She analyses exam results and collates them in the form of pie charts. She attends meetings with colleagues and has an actual clipboard. Sometimes, she ties her hair up with a pencil. Yes, professional Jane is a straight-laced, no-nonsense nine to fiver.

Then there’s “crazy Jane”. Crazy Jane tries to teach her cat how to curtsy (she *almost* has it). She has an inexplicable fear of foam and waltzes with herself. She likes to not stalk her neighbours with binoculars and pretend she’s a French mime artist. She also loves wrestling and tequila (in that order). Sometimes, she likes to drive slowly beside random joggers she’s never met while playing Eye of the Tiger. She also likes to frequent karaoke bars where she can rap California Love in its entirety.

So yes, I’m weird. But I’m not always weird. I could come on here and be normal but then you guys wouldn’t be (hopefully) laughing at with me.

In case you guys are wondering, crazy Jane mostly lives in a cage while professional Jane is at work. I let her out in the evening, where she likes to dance to Abba and blog. Crazy Jane sure loves to blog. She also loves talking to all her fellow weirdos and sending them virtual cake. She is uncomfortable with referring to herself in the third person so she’s going to stop now and knit some tea cosies even though she doesn’t have a tea pot. Sinister.

The Creative Blogger Award with added rule-breaking

Hi there! How’s it going? Good? Good. Rob from The V-pub has nominated me for the Creative Blogger Award, which is nice (that’s a Fast Show ref-oh never mind). Rob is honestly one of the nicest bloggers around; he’s a loyal reader of my blog, as well as being a funny, caring and all round good guy. His blog also shows that he has a variety of interests and talents and it’s a fun place to be. Check him out at the link above please! 


So what are the rules? THERE ARE NO RULES! Lol, of course there are rules. There are always rules. Here they are:

  • Nominate 15-20 blogs and notify all nominees via their social media/blogs
  • Thank and post the link of the blog that nominated you
  • Share five facts about yourself to your readers
  • Pass these rules on to them
  • Bake Jane a cake

Okay, I made the last one up. Worth a try.

So here are five facts about me:

1. I am currently a home tutor, because my contract in my previous school was up and I wanted to try something new. Everyday going to work, this clip plays through my mind:


2. Something exciting is happening in my personal life but I’m not allowed to tell anyone…yet. I can tell you that I’m not pregnant. Not even a little bit.



3. I’m obsessed with Shakespeare and Hamlet is the best thing written in the English language in my opinion. I also love To Kill a Mockingbird; I wanted Atticus Finch to be my dad. 

Sorry Dad


4. My favourite sport is rugby. It’s an incredibly exciting game. I also love a sport called hurling. It’s a native Irish sport that has been described by foreigners as “hockey mixed with murder”. Seriously, it’s CRAZY. 



5. I live in a very beautiful place that I will possibly have to leave soon but *pouty face* I DON’T WANNA! 

Just to clarify, I don’t live *in* the castle…

Here are my lovely nominees: 

Musings from a Workaholic 

Jessie Janelle Reyna


The Indecisive Eejit

Apricots and Cream

Tropical Affair

Deep Blues and Sea Foam Greens

Michelle Eastman Books

I Didn’t Have My Glasses On

Not a Punk Rocker

The Verbal Spew Review

Confetti and Curves

But I Smile Anyway

Hello World

 It’s a Britta Bottle

Hugs x Heart

Mother Hen Diaries

All Things Britney Lee

Cats at the Bar

Darshan Gajara’s Weirdo Tech Blog

Behind the White Coat

Char Spillane

Okay, I’ve broken the rules by nomimating too many bloggers, SUE ME! (Don’t really, I’m poor.) As usual, apologies if anyone feels left out (at least Santa loves you) and there is no pressure on anyone to accept the award, you can just bask in your collective awesomeness if you want :) 

Have a great day everyone! 

Cats at the Bar Charity Fundraising Drive


This is such a worthwhile cause. If you can help out in any way, please do! And if you can help spread the word, that would be great :) Look at the little face :D

Originally posted on Cats at the Bar:

DSC_3184_marked Now that it’s Spring and the onslaught of new kittens is coming, it’s time to help raise money for animal shelters and volunteer programs that do such good work, but never have enough money to keep up.

Between now and Easter I’m trying to raise $1,000
to give to volunteer cat shelters.

With your help, be it a dollar or ten, every little bit counts, we can make a difference and give cats a home, a place to stay or even just a meal.

Show your support along with Cats at the Bar! Tell the world you know every cat is special! Share this post and click the sign to help. Thank you my friends.  


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Sharing The Bed


A little piece I wrote for the wonderful Cats at the Bar. I love these guys :)

Originally posted on Cats at the Bar:

DSC_0039 (2)
Soot: “Sammy, get your paw off my face.”
Sammy: “What? This is the way I sleep now.”

Guest author, Janey of Cupid or Cats
Hey! Cupid or Cats is a finalist in the Weblog Awards or “Bloggies” in the “Most Humour Weblog” category. Voting closes on Sunday so it would be amazing if you could follow the link below and vote for her, it’s easy, I promise.

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Why I Stopped Drinking*

Ah, alcohol. We’ve had quite a tempestuous relationship. Sure, we’ve had some fun. Without your influence, I probably wouldn’t have mastered the ancient Japanese art of dance-karate or had the courage to perform a rap battle with a Spanish bus driver (hola, Javier). Then again, I also wouldn’t have broken and permanently damaged my ankle running down a mountain, or thrown a stiletto at a policeman because I thought he called me fat (turns out he was gently reminding me to watch the kerb). 



I’m not proud to admit this, but I started drinking alcohol at a young age. I grew up in a tiny village in the countryside, and there was only so much twirling on mountaintops dressed as Austrian milk maidens that we could do before even that got a little tedious.



As angst-ridden teenagers, my friends and I got bored and apathetic pretty easily. We did all the normal teenage things- we played sports, watched TV together, played the PlayStation, and set each other ridiculous dares (sorry if I have ever prank called any of you, but I really did care whether your refrigerator was running or not, honestly).

We were also a little awkward. Teenagers have it tough; there’s societal expectations thrust upon them that seem unattainable, they have hormones flying everywhere and they struggle with seemingly unending self-esteem issues. For my friends and I, most of these problems seemed to disappear when we had alcohol. We were suddenly more confident, more sociable and more uninhibited. Looking back, we were really, really stupid. We just didn’t realise what a potentially dangerous situation we were creating. We had no idea what the alcoholic content of most drinks was so we ingested vodka and other spirits like I would now drink water. My girlfriends and I freely drank around boys we barely knew and put ourselves into very vulnerable situations. We all had our fair share of personal problems and I suppose we drank to excess to forget these, but mostly, we drank because it was fun.

Of course, I’m not condoning teenage drinking. That’s irresponsible and I have a teenage dog, so I’m all about responsibility. There are a whole load of things that can go wrong for an intoxicated teenager, and things did go wrong for us. Sometimes someone got hurt, or did something stupid, but it didn’t stop us. I regret what I now see as the premature loss of my innocence; I wish I had been closer to my family and had followed the influence of my still teetotal older brother.


My family portrait…


Things only got more wild in college. And although I was a little indulgent with the liquor at times, I don’t regret it all that much because I was a little older and wiser. I had the time of my life, I made amazing friends and I once arrived home in a trolley dressed as a mermaid. And everyone loves trollies, see?


Look at his faaaace


But I knew it had to stop at some stage. I was diagnosed with epilepsy in 2009 and my brain just couldn’t keep up with the pina coladas anymore (and let’s face it, my brain is weird enough already). Since I left college, I probably drank alcohol about twice a year. The problem is, when I did drink, I went crazy. I have the most hilarious, fun-loving group of friends and when we get together, things happen. Scary things.



The last few times I have been out, there has been yodelling and a conversation with a parrot who was definitely telling me to get my life together.


His name was George, by the way…

The last time I had alcohol was about two months ago. I was out with my darling friends and we had an amazing time, in a lot of ways. But I didn’t enjoy being drunk. In fact, I haven’t enjoyed it in a long time. I felt tired and depressed. It wasn’t really giving me that ‘buzz’ anymore. I tried having a couple of Redbulls, but that just made me wake up at five a.m. convinced that I was having a heart attack. I then cleaned the entire hotel room and jogged on the spot for twenty minutes.  



The next morning, I felt hungover and depressed. I had a three hundred kilometre drive ahead of me and I had a lot of time to think (and use my hand as a microphone as I sang along to the radio). I realised that I just didn’t want to drink anymore. It’s dangerous for me because of my epilepsy, and I don’t particularly enjoy it anymore. I’m also a fun-loving girl, who loves to laugh and abstinence from alcohol won’t change that. Erm, hopefully.  



Really though, I’m going to be a healthier and happier person who can still go out and have fun, minus the thumping hangover. I know some of you might suggest moderation but that word doesn’t exist in the Irish lexicon. I’m only kidding; the only reason I’m saying that I can do completely without alcohol is because I actually don’t particularly like the taste of it all that much. I’ve never drank it for its taste, it was always just for its effect. I’d much prefer a cola or a lemonade…aaaand, I’ve just become Grandma. 

I don’t want anyone to think I’m judging people who drink. Hey, up until a few months ago, they were considering renaming Jacob’s Creek to Jane’s Creek, which sounds vaguely sexual. Many people drink only small amounts and have a very healthy relationship with alcohol, and that’s wonderful. It’s not like I had become completely dependent on alcohol, but I didn’t like how I was associating it with being the necessary ingredient for a good time. Now, I’m just happy to spend time with my friends and family, and if Mam wants to bake me a cake, who am I to complain? 

So, it’s farewell for now alcohol. I’m sure we’ll meet again in the not-too-distant-future, when I get the urge to sing karaoke or watch The Bridges of Madison County. But right now, I’m content to be the boring friend who tells everyone in the pub about the history of linen.  


Hey! Remember that Cupid or Cats is a finalist in the Weblog Awards or “Bloggies” in the “Most Humour Weblog” category (go on, do the finger quotes, you know you want to). Voting closes on Sunday so it would be amazing if you could follow the link below and vote for me, it’s easy, I promise :) To those of you who have already voted, thank you so much. It means a lot. And if you vote now, let me know so I can heap praise on you and worship you as a demigod. 

You can vote here:


*alcohol, obviously. Otherwise I’d be dead.

Lá Fhéile Phádraig Shona Daoibh Arís!

Hi gach duine! Lá fhéile Phádraig shona daoibh! Más rud é nach féidir leat a thuiscint , a úsáid Google Translate mo chara :) Ní féidir sé ag obair i gceart , ach beidh tú a fháil ar an gist, tá súil agam! 

Caithfidh mé a rá, le dhá bhliain anuas, bhí sé iontach chun ceangal le daoine ó gach cearn den domhan. Mheas mé mé féin an t-ádh a bheith ag baint le blagairí álainn den sórt sin agus ba mhaith liom buíochas a ghabháil libh go léir as bhur dtacaíocht leanúnach. 

Go raibh míle maith agaibh! Anois, tá mé a fháil ar ais go dtí snámha i uisce beatha, er….ciallóidh mé, rud ar bith. Ahem. 


Things I Can’t Do

I could write a post on the things I’m amazing at, but it would pretty much just look like this:

I could buy and sell all y’all…

Instead,  I’ve decided that it would be much more fun to write a post about all the things I’m not so amazing at so then you’ll realise that I’m actually only a barely-functioning adult who still can’t tell her right from her left. Then you’re bound to respect me, right? I mean left…no, right. *nervous laugh*

I Can’t Dance 

I’ve discussed this at length in a previous post but in case you’re too lazy to go check it out (you need to get out of this rut you’re in) here’s the low down:

When I dance, people get hurt. And I’m not talking emotionally, although that probably is the case too. I have actually injured people. 

I also make “the face”…


When Jack and I get married, I’m going to put a brunette wig on a sack of potatoes for him to dance with. I doubt anyone will notice the difference.

I can’t Math

If I am ever required to do basic arithmetic, I panic. For instance, we’ll say I have to decide how much money to take out at the ATM:

Right…so I need ten for bread, milk, biscuits and eggs. And twenty for petrol. So that’s…negative thirteen? What? Okay, let’s take out fifty. 

This is why I’m so poor.


I Can’t Concentrate For Long Periods

I try my best to pay attention when someone is talking to me but I almost always end up zoning out and venturing off into “Jane Land”, where I am president and it rains owls. Because of this, I miss huge chunks of people’s stories and when I’m introducing people to each other, it usually goes something like this:

Me: Liam, this is Patricia. She likes…bacon? You like bacon, right Patricia?

See, it’s a trick because everyone likes bacon. 

I’m basically this:


I Can’t Not Cry

I am an emotional person. Seriously, I cry at adverts on TV. That old lady was being scammed out of her life insurance damn it! 

Emotional adverts aside, my hypersensitivity is actually very embarrassing. Jack and I will be watching some sappy film, and the second the cheesy music starts playing, I’m off. Jack makes it worse by leaning forward, staring right into my tear-soaked face and asking me if I’m crying, to which I reply:

I’m not crying. I’ve dust in my eye. YOU’RE CRYING. 



I Can’t Sing

That doesn’t mean I don’t sing, just that when I do, it sounds like the mating call of a tomcat that has been incarcerated in an all-male detention centre for his entire life. Or, if you’d prefer an actual quote from my boyfriend, a yodeller being eviscerated. 

I’m tempted to audition for one of those Simon Cowell judged competitions just to be told how abysmal I really am. I’d imagine he’d say something like “that was like listening to a llama whose foot got stuck in barbed wire appealing to his friend two fields over to come to his assistance” and I’d be like “Oh Simon, this is so us.” And then we’d become BFFs and he’d buy me a Floridan mansion where Paula Abdul would make frequent but unwelcome visits. Butt out, Paula.

It could happen…


I Can’t Be Normal

You know when you’re having a run-of-the-mill conversation with someone about the weather? I don’t. My conversations usually go something like this:

Friend: …So that’s all my news…Jane, what are you thinking about?

Me: Do you think emus cry?

Why don’t you come and tell me what you can’t do and we’ll celebrate our failures together? Or cry. Whatever. 

Remember, you can still vote for me in the Bloggies. I’m up for Most Humorous Weblog. If you already have, thank you so much. 


Blog Pitch Party 2: Pitch Your Blog And Attract New Followers


Come on over guys! You may meet some new blogging friends and I’m there, which is always good…right? *long silence*

Originally posted on The Return of the Modern Philosopher:

invitedSince Spring Training has started, I’ve certainly got pitching on my mind, Modern Philosophers.

However, not all pitching is limited to the type that takes place on a baseball field.

I’ve been thinking about the wildly successful Blog Pitch Party I threw back in July, and I thought it was time to host another.

As you know, I’m also a screenwriter.  When I was lived in California, I’d get invited by producers to a pitch meeting.  Basically, they’d ask about my scripts, and then based on a few sentences from me, they’d decide if they were interested in reading any of them.

keep wrtingI thought that same progress would work perfectly with blogs.  Why not bring a little Hollywood to the blogging world, Modern Philosophers?

In the comment section, pitch your blog.  Give us the name, a link, and up to three sentences describing your blog.

If you choose to participate…

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Being in a Long-Term Relationship 

I have been in a relationship for twelve years. Yes, someone has put up with me for twelve long years. Although there have been times that my boyfriend and I have wanted to kick each other in the shins, we generally are a content and functioning couple. Just don’t put one slice of pizza in front of us, because it won’t end well.


During these past twelve years, I’ve learned a lot of things: don’t ever shave your eyebrows, the capital of Australia is Canberra and-

Oh right, I was talking about my relationship.

Yeah, I learned some stuff about relationships too. Here it is:

1. Small Things Become Big Things

If you’d have told me at the start of our relationship that we would one day be arguing about who’s turn it is to make the tea, I’d have probably scoffed and arrogantly reassured myself that we would never become that couple. The thing is, when you both get used to each other, and I mean, really used to each other, you do start to argue about seemingly trivial matters. Some of our most ridiculous arguments have included:

  • Teabags: is it ever okay to put them in the sink?
  • The dog knows when you’re lying to her!
  • Those are my socks!
  • Pick up the damn towel!

I’ve, er, never done this…


The important thing is to remember that these are inconsequential matters and you really do love each other and all that other crap.

2. You Stop Trying To Impress Each Other

The start of a relationship is a lot of fun; you can’t keep your hands off each other and you’re yet to find out about his weird Barry Manilow obsession *shudder*. It’s also a time fraught with nerves and attempts to impress each other. After twelve years, I’m completely comfortable around Jack. I don’t feel the need to wear lots of makeup or even brush my hair. Okay, so I brush my hair…sometimes…on Sundays. 


3. You Exist in Your Own Little World

Sometimes Jack and I will be around a family member or a friend, and this will happen:

Jack: Will you get the…?

Me: Yeah, but should I make the…?

Jack: That’d be nice. I’ll get a…

Me: Perfect, thanks.


Only we know. And possibly dolphins. 


4. The Small Gestures Become Better Than The Big Ones

Jack doesn’t often buy me flowers. Instead, he makes me a cup of tea (despite our arguments) without me asking on a cold day, he has dinner on the table when I come home from work, and he wraps me in blanket when I’m cold. Sometimes he buys me flowers but I honestly prefer the little gestures; they’re much more thoughtful and considerate. Although I wouldn’t say no to a Mercedes.


5. Their Annoying Habits Become Unbearable 

I love Jack. I do. Really. But when he mumbles monosyllables at me when I ask him a question I WANT TO THROW CACTII AT HIM. *calms down* I’m good, I’m okay. 

Likewise, I annoy him. But everyone sounds loud when chewing steak, right? RIGHT? 


6. You Get into a Comfortable Routine

I always sleep on the right side of the bed. I sit on the right side of the coach. I have my mug, he has his mug:

It’s very amoosing…

He knows that I like my tea milky and I know that he likes his strong (enough with the tea, geeze). Some people might think we’re like a boring old couple, and those people would be right. We are. Prune juice shots for everyone.

7. You Learn to Compromise 

Lol, not really guys. You always give in.


Psst! Cupid or Cats is a finalist in the Most Humous category in the 2015 Bloggies. I don’t know how that happened either. If you would like to vote for me, you can click on the link below. It’s very simple and I would really appreciate it. If you’ve already voted, thank you so much. There’s a messenger pigeon on its way to you with your reward. Probably.

2015 Weblog Awards

The College Years

Believe it or not, I went to university. *waits for you to stop laughing…waits longer…*

I was a young, naive eighteen year old girl who actually still believed that Laika, the Soviet space dog, had survived her perilous voyage into low earth orbit because no one had ever wanted to tell this animal lover the cold, hard truth. As you can imagine, the thought of moving out into the big bad world was pretty daunting for me. Despite the fears and apprehension that I had, I was also quite excited. I envisioned myself sashaying into lectures theatres wearing an oversized scarf and rimless glasses, carrying only the finest coffee from the goateed barista around the corner, surrounded by enlightened students and partaking in witty debates with our charismatic lecturer who I basically imagined as this guy:


Be still my beating heart…


In reality, once I looked up what sashaying is in the dictionary, I realised things would be very very different. Firstly, I was usually awkwardly sidestepping into whatever seat was available twenty minutes into the lecture. Secondly, I could never afford coffee. Many a lecture was spent gazing longingly at the rich girls sitting up front, sipping their latte macchiatos and looking radiant because of their ability to afford solid food and central heating. And finally, my lecturers were no where near as charismatic as Professor Lasky (except for the Canadian guy who wore flowery shirts and played Sinatra on Fridays). Instead, they picked their noses, mumbled apathetically through lecture notes and seemed to only converse with the mature students who eagerly sat in the front row using words like “utilitarian” and “stentorian”.


I had always thought of myself as somewhat intelligent and knowledgeable (I’ll conveniently ignore the time I put an egg on the grill) but university just served to inform me that what I don’t know could fill a rather large warehouse. There is nothing like sitting in a lecture while your professor and classmates are actually speaking in Middle English to make you feel out of place. I had my I have no idea what’s going on but the professor is looking at me nod down to a T though.



I had assumed that having read the main four Shakespearean tragedies, knowing a sonnet from a sestina and being able to use the word modicum in a sentence provided me with the basic requirements for university level English, but apparently I was wrong. Many students in my class had seemingly spent their teenage years reading Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky and the more obscure Shakespearean plays, like Troilus and Cressida and Timon of Athens because Hamlet and Othello are sooo mainstream. I had spent my teenage years making bad hair decisions and pining over Nick Carter’s curtain hair.



There was, of course, lectures that I loved and that I felt comfortable in. I majored in history and English because these have always been my favourite subjects. They are also the subjects that I now teach. My grades were consistently high (mostly because I had the amazing capacity to study for forty eight hours straight) and overall, I enjoyed college.

But then there were days where I was lazy and disinterested. I made some bad module choices; like when I chose a course called Information Revolutions because it sounded really exciting but turned out to be a history of technology and made me want to staple my eyelids shut. I got pretty lost pretty quickly.

Space Dog


In the end, I realised that choosing the right courses was basically the key to enjoying college and I was able to make informed decisions in my final year. And then I got a degree. 



No, really. And then I got another one. And then a diploma. Underneath all this madness, there’s a brain that can retain quite a lot of useless information and some useful information.

So what did my college experience teach me? Attending classes does not necessarily mean you will become enlightened and all-knowing. Feeling inadequate is totally normal, and while there are five people who may pipe up in lectures and seem like they really know their stuff, there are 195 more people who are just as silently insecure as you are. And finally, there is no substitute for life experience. I learned far more about self-reliance and independence (freezing my ass off when I couldn’t afford my heating bill), than any lecture could ever have taught me.

Cupid or Cats has been chosen as a finalist in the Most Humorous Blog category for the Weblog Awards 2015. I would be delighted and emotional if you could vote for me, because I can’t even ask my mother to. To vote, just click on the link below, select Cupid or Cats under the Most Humorous category and submit your email address. You then just have to verify your vote and presto, I love you. Thank you!

And to those who have already voted, thank you so much. *hugs you and sniffs your hair*